


Pas De Deux

by flumpazoid



Category: Common Law
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-29
Updated: 2014-06-29
Packaged: 2018-02-06 18:45:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1868403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flumpazoid/pseuds/flumpazoid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Please don't alienate anyone we might end up working with in the future," Wes says in the condescending tone he reserves especially for Travis.</p>
<p>"I'm not the one who alienates people," Travis points out.</p>
<p>"No, you're the one who sleeps with them and doesn't call them in the morning," Wes snaps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pas De Deux

They're in Vegas for three days - not a bomb disposal seminar, this time it's all about hostage negotiation.

"Please don't alienate anyone we might end up working with in the future," Wes says in the condescending tone he reserves especially for Travis.

"I'm not the one who alienates people," Travis points out.

"No, you're the one who sleeps with them and doesn't call them in the morning," Wes snaps, and Travis kinda wishes they weren't missing therapy. They've been making progress, but this past week Wes has been... less cuddly than usual.

What Travis means is that Wes has been a complete raging asshole to everyone, even Kendall. He's tried to talk to him about it, he even tried to use Dr Ryan's active listening techniques, but nothing. Nada. No explanations or bonding or working through it together, just Wes being the partner from hell and Travis having to pick up the pieces and smooth things over in his wake.

Travis had hoped that Wes would've gotten over whatever it is by now, because they're sharing a room. Wes had sprung for a suite at the Venetian (he wasn't about to stay in Treasure Island, thank you very much), and Travis had really been looking forward to it. He was going to take Wes on a gondola ride, but now it didn't seem like such a great idea.

Travis pulls the Cirque du Soleil tickets out of his wallet and wonders if that was a bad idea too. 

They have a Vegas tradition. They always turn up the evening before the seminar, and they always see a show. It was Travis's turn to pick, so he looked up the discount codes online and got the show that had a two for one offer (there was another show on the two for one, but that was Criss Angel and he is a douche and Travis is not spending a cent on him).

Wes has already chosen a bed and is unpacking and seriously, Travis will never understand him.

"Feel like home?" Travis jokes, because he has no sense of self preservation. He gets a death glare in return.

"I got us Cirque tickets," he offers.

Wes frowns. "Not 'O'." For someone so hygiene obsessed, Wes has a serious issue with the smell of chlorine.

"Not 'O'," Travis confirms.

"Where are we going?"

"New York New York," Travis says carefully. He really has no idea what could set Wes off at any moment.

"There's a decent steak restaurant there," Wes says off-handedly, not looking at Travis as he folds a shirt. Travis takes the peace offering for what it is and smiles.

***

Wes wasn't kidding, the porterhouse is amazing. A glass of scotch and some good red wine has Wes more like his usual self, and Travis thinks the next three days might not be so bad after all.

***

"Are you sure this is Cirque?" Wes hisses urgently in Travis's ear. Travis has been wondering the same thing. Yes, it's acrobatics and feats of gymnastic wonder, but it's also sex. It's stripping and nudity and bodies writhing.

Two men take to the stage and tango music begins to play. It's unclear whether they're fucking or fighting - there seems to be an ever-blurring line between the two. They end with a passionate kiss and Travis is turned _on_.

He doesn't dare look to his left.

***

They leave the theater in awkward silence. Until Wes explodes by the taxi rank.

"What the _hell_ , Travis?"

He can only shrug in apology. "I'm sorry, man. If I'd known what it was, I never would've come with you."

Something ugly crosses Wes's face, but he doesn't reply.

***

The taxi ride is short but tense. It's worse when they get to their room. Travis can almost feel the rage building up inside Wes, and he needs to get out before he gets hit by the blast.

"Gonna try my luck in the casino," he says, pulling the door shut behind him. It's not until he's reached the casino floor that he realises he left his wallet on the dresser.

Part of him is tempted to stay downstairs and wait until Wes falls asleep. But he really needs a drink, and although he could turn on the charm and have a stranger buy one for him, he doesn't want to do that. So he braces himself and heads back up.

***

It's dark when he opens the door. The lone emergency light by the steps to the living area is the first thing he registers. The second is the soft, almost pained-sounding whimpers coming from one of the beds.

"Wes?" he asks uncertainly as he flips on the light and, oh.

_Oh._

Oh shit.

Wes is lying on the bed, a thin sheen of sweat covering his skin. His back is arched, he's gripping his cock, and his other hand's between his spread legs. He's still making those hurt noises in his throat and Travis's brain shorts out a little when he realises that Wes is screwing himself on his fingers.

He feels his blood rushing to his cock and he knows he's been staring for way too long, but he's transfixed. Wes is the in-control one. The tightly-wound one. The one with the immaculate hair and clothes and absolutely nothing out of place. He's not... this. Laid out and wrecked, all open and inviting. Travis wants to touch, to taste, to lose himself with him, but he doesn't have the right

He finally tears his gaze from Wes's body to find Wes staring right back at him, eyes wild as he jacks himself off.

"Travis," he moans, and Travis is half convinced that this is a dream, because in real life Wes would be throwing pillows and screaming at him to get out. He wouldn't be looking at him with _want_ like this.

Travis thinks it's want. Wes may have just gone insane, that's an equally likely explanation.

Travis stays rooted to the spot. "Do you want me to leave?" he asks hesitantly. 

Wes shakes his head. "I need..." He spreads his legs wider, almost crying out in frustration.

Travis can see the problem. "You're never gonna get your g-spot like that," he says helpfully.

Wes glares at him, and oddly, that makes him feel better. "What do you think I need you for?"

"Yeah, definitely not dreaming," Travis sighs as he kneels on the bed and gently pulls Wes's hand free. "Let me get that for you."

He picks up the discarded tube of hotel hand lotion and gets his fingers slick, not thinking about the fact that this should feel really weird, or the fact that it doesn't. He pushes Wes's thigh back and holds it in place, opening him up nice and good. He has a feel around and yeah, that's it. Wes jerks like he's been shocked, and Travis goes for it, fingers hitting his spot again and again. Wes rocks down onto his fingers, finding his rhythm, chanting Travis's name. 

This should be terrible. Travis's hand is starting to cramp, he's fully clothed, he hasn't been touched at all.

He doesn't remember being this turned on in his life.

Wes arches and comes all over himself. It's hot, it's so damn hot and Travis's dick is hard enough to cut glass.

Wes reaches towards Travis's zipper.

"Hey, what are you doing?" Travis asks as he bats Wes's hand away.

"Let me."

"You don't have to."

"I'll be good," Wes promises. He looks up at Travis. "I'll even cover my teeth."

"Uh..." Travis fumbles out of his zipper and underwear. It's not graceful, it's a little too desperate, but he stops caring when Wes puts his mouth on him.

It's good, it's so good, Wes is so good at this and since when did he give blowjobs anyway? That bothers Travis, a little annoying buzz in the back of his mind telling him that he doesn't really know this man, but he ignores it in favour of the tight wet heat of Wes's mouth. His tongue is doing some fluttering thing that's making Travis's dick leak precome, and when he swallows it down that feels even better.

Travis pets Wes's hair absently, and yeah those fingers were up his ass, and yeah he'll probably have a freakout about that afterwards, but right now the hair petting is making Wes purr and that's kinda the cherry on the blowjob sundae.

Wes swallows greedily before releasing him with a soft, obscene pop. Travis's legs wobble and he gives in, collapsing on the bed next to Wes.

Wes pushes at him ineffectually. "Get your dirty shoes off my bed," he complains.

Travis stares at him. "Really? That's what's bothering you right now?"

"I also need a shower."

***

The marble bathroom might be huge, but it only has one shower. However, the shower is easily big enough for two so there's no need to rock-paper-scissors for it.

"You just want to see me naked," Travis teases.

"Well, you were gawking at me for long enough, it's only fair."

"Come on, I gave you an awesome orgasm."

"Nothing I couldn't have done if I had my vibrator," Wes retorts and Travis's eyes glaze over a little. He topples out of his jeans.

"I meant to do that," he says.

Wes rolls his eyes.

***

They're efficient washing themselves - washing each other. Not to say that Wes doesn't linger a little on Travis's chest, or that Travis doesn't take longer than he has to washing the shampoo out of Wes's hair, but it's not drawn-out or romantic.

They don't talk until they pad out of the bathroom and see the state of Wes's bed.

"I'm sleeping in your bed," Wes says.

"Fine, but I'm sleeping there too."

***

They wake up curled into one another.

"Do we need to talk about this?" Travis asks in a low voice.

"I'd rather not," Wes confesses, muffled against Travis's heart. 

"Me neither," Travis says, stroking down the curve of his spine.

***

The days pass quickly and what's weird is that it's not awkward at all. They're attentive at the seminar, they meet colleagues from states far and wide, they go to the designated breakout sessions and networking and scheduled dinners and then they return to their room and fuck each other senseless.

Their last night feels different. They don't talk about it, but there's a sense of finality between them. 

Travis wraps his legs around Wes's waist and Wes pushes in deep. Travis cups Wes's face, and they kiss for the first time, slow and a little too close to loving. Wes imprints finger-shaped bruises onto Travis's hips and Travis rakes scratches onto Wes's back, and if they both press a little too hard, it's not because they want to leave something behind, marks on their bodies that say _remember me, remember this_. 

It doesn't mean anything at all.

***

Life in LA is the same as it was before. Maybe Travis will stand in front of the bathroom mirror and trace the bruises on his hips, and maybe Wes will stand under a scalding shower to feel the sting of the healing scratches on his back, but by silent, mutual agreement, they don't talk about it.

Until Tuesday's therapy session.

It starts when Rozelle asks them how Vegas was. "Did you get lucky?" she says and the expressions on their faces make everyone _stop_.

Dr Ryan's eyebrows nearly disappear into her hair.

Travis and Wes exchange a quick glance and Travis is so glad they haven't lost this, their ability to know what the other guy's gonna do just by sharing a look. Wes has clearly chosen to lay it out on the table lawyer-style, no doubt with the conclusion that there isn't an issue, so Travis can just kick back and enjoy watching him.

"We did sleep together," Wes begins.

"A lot," Travis says, nodding.

"As I was saying," Wes continues, glaring at Travis. He hates being interrupted. "We did sleep together, but that was a one-off thing-"

"Although we did it a LOT."

Peter cocks his head. "'A lot' a lot, or just," he waves at the group in general, "ish?"

It's fairly telling that the group isn't offended.

"A LOT," Travis confirms. "Hella," he adds for clarification.

A vein throbs in Wes's forehead. "AS I WAS SAYING, it was a one-off thing and everything's back to normal."

Grace looks sympathetic. "Was the sex not good?" she asks.

"Just in case anyone didn't understand," Travis says loudly, "the 'hella' was for both quantity and quality."

Dr Ryan bites her lip. Travis isn't sure if she's laughing at Wes's impending stroke or just at their general ineptness.

"I don't get it." Dakota looks more disappointed than she has any right to be. "If it was so good, how come you're not still doing it?"

They look at each other then, and this is why they need Dr Ryan. Because they're not on the same page anymore, they might not even be reading from the same book, and they both know they can hurt each other badly right now. They don't want to, not like when they're sniping at each other and tearing themselves apart, but they're swimming in uncharted territory and they've got monsters, both of them.

"It was good," Wes says carefully. "I think I needed it. But it's a case of being fair to both of us, and taking into account what we both want."

Travis looks at him. "What do you want, Wes?" He ignores Dr Ryan's look that clearly says they could've talked about this before and avoided the current awkwardness.

"I want something real," he says quietly. "I want someone who'll stay."

"I'm not staying in your hotel room."

Wes smiles, and it's a little broken. "It's ok, Travis, you can just say you don't want to be with me."

"I never said that!"

"You don't even like me a lot of the time."

Travis has had _enough_.

"You are so damn stupid, you know that?"

"Travis, we've talked about constructive language-"

"Why do you think I kept coming back?" Wes looks at him like he can't quite believe that Travis would choose him. "Dumbass," he adds as an afterthought.

"Clearly we have some work to do," Dr Ryan says.

"You need to buy a house," Travis continues as if she hadn't spoken. "I want a 3D TV with surround sound. And a big yard for the dog."

"For the dog," Wes echoes.

"And you need to throw out your old stuff. I don't care how cool Alex is, I am not competing with the ghost of your ex-wife."

"She's not _dead_ ,"

Dr Ryan sighs. "You two, stay back afterwards. Rozelle, Clyde, how did the feedback technique work for you this week?"

"She told me every single thing that was wrong with me, if that's what you're asking."

"Not every single thing," Rozelle retorts. "Ain't nobody got time for _that_."

***

Epilogue

There are forms to fill out. There's good-natured teasing to deal with. Money changes hands at the precinct, and Jonelle is pissed that she missed the date by less than a week.

In time, they get the house and the TV and the dog. They break the captain's record. One day they'll adopt kids. 

You could say they live happily ever after.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! For anyone waiting for Nineteen, I'm sorry it's taking so long. It's got a lot bigger than I thought, but it is in progress, I promise. (Also, if there are any Americans willing to help out with fact checking that Wikipedia can't do, I'd be really grateful.)


End file.
